Aunt Rose had been writing down her thoughts from the moment she learned to put pencil to paper. Feeding Rose's fervid imagination were the tales spinning about in the old and dusty books left behind by the last tenants of the decrepit farmhouse. She fairly devoured each and every tattered, dog-eared page. Is there any other eatable in this universe that can be so devoured yet, beyond all human reason, remain intact sufficient for countless more tasty repasts? Clearly a precocious child, the young Rose applied herself in school - she was a model student - and excelled in all subjects. The study of English grammar and literature, however, was her passion.
Upon graduation Rose was determined to continue her education; she became a self-taught woman at a time when "education" and "women" were words infrequently paired together. Despite long hours spent tending the garden, the livestock and diverse other chores peculiar to life on a ranch, Rose used her evenings to feed the mind. It was the young scholar's custom to read in bed until she finally dropped off, her will no longer able to fight off much-deserved sleep. An open book in one hand, a pencil now motionless upon a word-cluttered notebook in the other: this, an evening's literary drama played out.
Mama would come dutifully into the tiny bedroom every night to check on her youngest daughter, removing Rose's wireframe eyeglasses from her bowed head and, finally, extinguishing the kerosene lantern. Looking at Rose one last time for the day, Mama had to wonder what would become of so singular a young lady.
The outlook of her family and of older members of the community could be described as nothing other than provincial. "There goes Rose the bookworm!" the old hens would cluck as they huddled together on the general store's wooden walk. Rose would throw them a cursory smile and breeze on by as she headed to the stationers three doors down, then to the book seller's stall. The old women were not necessarily malicious in their tittering; they were simply amused at the thought of a farm girl's getting higher than herself. Rose was not embittered (it simply was not her nature) but annoyed at the narrow view so tenaciously held by the older generation. Not to mention the lack of vision of her contemporaries.
Few among Rose's acquaintances (and none of her family) presumed that this young author's first book would sell. Quite to the contrary, Hard Work Will Not Kill You became a national best-seller. In the course of its 383 pages Rose described how she, her ten siblings and old-world parents turned a rundown ranch in the San Joaquin Valley into a profitable enterprise. This meandering but spellbinding account included a detailed family history as well as the plucky raconteur's philosophy on a number of matters near to the heart, most notably that of the modern woman's place in the worldwide community.
She who laughs last laughs best ... all the way to the bank.